


Penthouse

by Detownley



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detownley/pseuds/Detownley
Summary: Dancing, alcohol, and rich people. What more could anyone want from a party? Reader is invited to one of John Duncan's famous parties, but John invited them for a reason.





	1. The Meeting

You stand at the edge of the room, taking a few moments to get your breath back after dancing, an empty champagne glass in one hand and your shoes in the other. You’d bought the shoes especially for the party and hadn’t had a chance to break them in yet, so standing around in them for the last four hours had been rather painful and you thought your feet deserving of a break.  
The lights are low in John Duncan’s penthouse and every bit of space is occupied with warm bodies, sweating as they twist and turn in time with the music – music which is very loud. Golden balloons drift along the ceiling and matching gold fabric is draped across the windows that cover an entire wall of the apartment, opening up onto a balcony that overlooks the city. The glass is so clean that you wouldn’t know there was glass there at all, and you can’t help but smile at the thought of people bumping into the window, thinking it was an open door.  
You’ve never been to the rich side of the city before - nor had you ever met John - so when your best friend was given a plus one to the party, you were more than happy to accept the offer. It was safe to say that partying was kind of your thing, although you were normally the one hosting them. You’d gotten quite a name for yourself around the city, but when people started talking about a relatively new face by the name of John Duncan, you were eager to check out the competition.  
Your best friend, Andy, returns from the bar with your drinks. “Here,” he says, doing his best to make himself heard over the music. “Get that down you.”  
You take a sip and immediately spit it back into the glass. “What the fuck is that?” You frown, wiping your tongue on the back of your hand. “It tastes like gasoline!”  
He chuckles and takes the glass from you, emptying it into a potted plant and placing it on the coffee table nearby. “Some expensive shit that the bartender recommended. I don’t know, man, rich people’ll buy anything if they’re told it’s fancy. My dad once paid $3000 for a coffee machine because the salesman told him it was the same one that the Queen of England has.”  
“Does the Queen of England even drink coffee?” you ask.  
”No idea,” he shrugs. “But my dad does.”  
Your eyes wander the room until they find John on the other side of the improvised dance floor. He’s surrounded by people, all chattering away with each other. You recognise a few of them; celebrities and local legends. People you’ve only ever shared a building with when you’re blind drunk and being escorted out of fancy restaurants that you have no business being in any way. He’s just as attractive as you’d assumed he would be. With a tailored suit, a fine physique, and just the right amount of stubble that says “I’m a professional lawyer, but I’m not a conventional one.”  
“You should go over and talk to him,” Andy says, noticing your stare.  
“What?” You ask, snapping out of your analysis of John and shaking your head to clear your thoughts.  
“You should go and talk to John.”  
“What? No way. What would I say?”  
“I dunno. Talk to him about the colour of your underwear for all I care, just stop staring and go say something.” He takes a sip of his drink.  
“I - He’s - He’s busy. I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother him when he’s with his friends.” You say, turning your back to the crowd as more people flock to John.  
“Holy shit. You wouldn’t happen to be scared, would you?” Andy teases.  
“No! No. Of course not, I just-“  
“Wow. Y’know, I’ve seen a lot of things during my time in this city, but I never thought I’d see the day that Y/N L/N was scared of socialising.” He laughs.  
“Shut up,” you say, pointing your finger at him.  
“What d’you have to lose? He wants you here anyway…” He takes a sly sip from his glass and waits for you to pick up on what he’d said.  
“He- wait, what? What d’you mean he wants me here?”  
“Well, you can’t tell him I told you this, but he specifically asked me to bring you as my plus one.”  
Your eyes widen and then you frown with confusion. You look over your shoulder and John happens to glance over at you as you do so, resulting in accidental eye contact.  
“Oh fuck,” you hiss, whipping your head back around and covering your eyes with your hand in embarrassment.  
“Oh shit, he saw you,” Andy says, casually, taking another sip from his glass. “I guess you have no choice but to go over there, now. It’d be rude to ignore him after making eye contact.” He smiles, always amused by your shortcomings, as best friends often were.  
“You’re a son of a bitch, y’know that?” You say, thrusting your shoes into his chest and straightening your hair out.  
“That’s why we’re friends; we have that in common,” he calls after you as you begin making your way towards the edge of the bustling crowd. You put your hand in the air and flip him off as you disappear into the ocean of people.  
You make your way over to the group, who are stood right next to the bar, taking up a large portion of the space around it and thus preventing the bartender from being able to hear people’s orders. John is stood in the middle of no less than 15 people and they all look at him as though they’re worshipping him, rather than simply listening to him tell stories. As you approach him, John reaches over to the bar and grabs a full glass of champagne, shoving it into your hands without even looking in your direction.  
“I’m afraid I have to go now, ladies and gentlemen; my friend here requires my utmost attention-“  
“I-“  
John places a hand on your shoulder and turns you around to face the way you came. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, folks.” He says to them before guiding you away from the crowd and into a free space at the edge of the room.  
“Y/N. A pleasure to finally meet you. My apologies for not approaching you earlier this evening,” John says, placing a hand on his chest to convey sincerity. “These people are so very needy and if you don’t give them the attention that they crave, things tend to get ugly.”  
You look at him in wonder. He had a drink waiting for you? Was he really that confident that you’d approach him?  
“Were you-“  
“Expecting you? Yes.” He admits. “I imagine Andrew filled you in on me wanting him to bring you here.”  
“Yeah, he did,” you say, tracing your thumb around the rim of your champagne glass. “I wasn’t even aware that you knew me.”  
John laughs a sweet, yet utterly formulated laugh. “Of course I know who you are. Everyone at this party knows who you are.” He says, gesturing to the people around you. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
“Likewise. You’re encroaching on my reputation,” you joke.  
“Not purposely, I assure you.” He takes a sip of his drink.  
The music changes and the bass vibrates through the floor. You didn’t think it was possible for the music to get any louder than it was before, but evidently, you had been wrong. John tries to say something, but his words are lost in the sound of the speakers booming. Annoyed, he gently puts his hand on your lower back and gestures towards a door to the side of you. You glance over and Andy and find him watching you from the other side of the room. There’s a mild look of concern across his face, but before you can do anything about it, John has opened the door and ushered you inside.  
You step through the door into a dark room and John closes the door behind the two of you, plunging you into complete darkness for a few seconds before he switches on the lights and you find yourself in his bedroom.  
You raise your eyebrow at John, who takes a seat on the bed, straightening his suit jacket as he does so.  
He looks around for a moment before realising why you’re looking at him like that.  
“Oh… I just thought it’d be nice to talk in a quieter environment. I promise I’m not trying to-“  
“It’s fine,” you smile, sitting beside him on the bed. “I can actually hear myself think in here, so it’s all good.”  
“The one thing I dislike about parties is all the noise,” he sighs. “And the hangovers.” He adds.  
“I don’t get many hangovers anymore. I did when I was younger, but I’.”m way past it now.”  
There’s a few moments of awkward silence before John speaks. “So, what line of work are you in?” John asks.  
“I studied journalism, and now I work as a severely underpaid intern at this crumby local news station,” you smile. “I wasn’t born into a rich family. I couldn’t really afford any fancy schools, so I didn’t get to skip all the boring, low-level jobs.”  
“I wasn’t born into a rich family either,” John says, almost defensively.  
“Your parents were rich though, right?”  
“Indeed, they were… but I wasn’t born to them.” He says.  
“Oh shit, you were… I didn’t know.”  
“Not many people do.”  
“Well, I’m honoured,” you smile. “I bet you hear this question a lot – although maybe not if not many people know – but do you ever wanna find your biological parents?”  
John immediately shakes his head, wildly. “No, no, no.” He chuckles, setting his glass down on the floor beside his feet.  
“Oh… I’ve overstepped my mark, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I have no filter when I’m nervous.”  
“I make you nervous?” John asks, his mouth stretching into an excited grin.  
You blush. “Uh, I mean… Kinda.”  
John slowly nods his head with interest. “Good to know,” he says.  
“Moving on,” you start, eager to avoid further awkwardness. “How do you know me without me knowing you?” You ask, also setting your glass beside your feet.  
“Well, like I said; I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve been living in this city for a year or so now, and I like to do my research on people.”  
“Research?” You ask, admittedly more alarmed by what he may have found out about you, rather than the fact that he was looking into you to begin with.  
“You have quite the social media presence and I quickly noticed that you tend to become careless when you’re drunk, so it was easy enough to gather information on you. I like to know who I’m involving myself with,” he says, leaning back on his hands.  
“Involving? That’s what we’re calling it?” You chuckle. “Mr. Duncan, I’ve known you for all of five minutes. If you wanna involve yourself with me, you’re gonna have to take me to dinner fir-“  
John raises his hand to your face and slowly moves the backs of his fingers along your jaw. You swallow. Oh, you think. He’s serious.  
John leans in and presses his lips to yours softly and you stay there with your eyes closed for a few seconds before pulling away.  
“So much for not trying anything,” you mutter, trying to alleviate some of the tension.  
“Admittedly, I brought you here with an ulterior motive,” he says, still holding his hand to your face. “At first, I wanted to know why people talked about you so much. I was curious as to what was so special about you.” He slides closer to you until he’s pressed against you and begins kissing your neck. “But then,” he says between kisses. “I saw you, and I knew I just had to try you.”  
Try me? You think, tilting your head to one side so that more of your neck is exposed for John to plant kisses on. You think about the stories that you’d heard about him. Among the many rumours you’d been told, you’d heard that he slept around a lot. That there was always someone different leaving his apartment building at sunrise. He collects lovers like other people collect concert wristbands, and it dawns on you that he’s slept with so many people that, quite frankly, he’s bored. He has an interest in you because you’re new to him. Like a new flavour of bubble gum, he wants to see what you feel like; what you taste like.  
John runs his hand along the inside of your thigh and you lean into his touch, giving him the go-ahead to touch you a little rougher. He kisses you again. His lips taste like whiskey and cigarette smoke and you can’t deny that the kiss is good. Real good. The room is quiet as he helps you undress – the only sound being the music booming through the walls as he tosses your shirt onto the floor. Had you been a little more sober, you might not have accepted his advances so easily. You had a reputation, but that reputation certainly wasn’t for being easy. But alas, you weren’t sober, and John was far too charismatic for your mildly intoxicated brain to fend off. He’d laid down traps for you all week – pressing your friend to invite you, sneakily glancing at you from the other side of the room, plying you with drinks, ushering you into his bedroom – it was all calculated, and you’d wandered into every single trap, blissfully unaware.  
You reach both hands up, burying them in his soft, dark hair as he lays you down on the bed, following suit. His hands wander across your bare skin, smoothly gliding up over your waist and settling on your ribs. You spread your legs and John positions himself between them, pulling away from the kiss for just a moment and breathing heavily whilst he unbuckles his belt. You swallow as you watch him, propping yourself up on your elbows.  
As John tugs at your underwear, there’s a knock on the door – not just any knock, though. A familiar knock in the tune of Shave and A Haircut. You know who it is from that knock alone. John rolls off you and you sit up as Andy opens the door. The music floods into the previously quiet room and you find yourself wincing at how loud it is.  
“Andy, what are you doing?” You hiss, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to cover some of the bare skin.  
“I figured you might need someone to make sure you don’t do something stupid,” Andy says, looking considerably angrier than usual, with one hand on the door handle and the other wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.  
“I…”  
He’s right. You do need someone to stop you from doing something stupid. Although you were having fun, you’ve only met John 5 minutes ago, and whilst partying is something you’re an avid fan of, you’re not sure if sleeping with complete strangers who made an effort to lure you here is something you want to add to your list of hobbies.  
John scowls at Andy as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and gather your shirt from the floor. “Andrew…” John warns. “This isn’t your concern.”  
Andy glares at John as you get dressed and join him by the door. “C’mon,” he says, placing his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”  
You look back over your shoulder and find John sat upright on the bed, watching you leave. You offer him an apologetic look and he nods courteously as Andy closes the door behind you.  
________________________________________  
“What the fuck was that about?” You ask as you and Andy step out of the swanky apartment building and into the street below. It’s colder than it was earlier in the evening and it’s beginning to rain, but Andy had draped his suit jacket over your shoulders before exiting the building.  
“You were gonna regret doing that come tomorrow morning,” he tells you.  
“You were the one who wanted me to talk to him!”  
“Yeah, because I thought he was interested in getting to know you, not…” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “Look, you’re two years younger than me, right? So it’s my moral obligation to make sure that you don’t get hurt.”  
“You know him. You know what he’s like. You’re telling me you didn’t know he was trying to get into my pants?” You ask, doubtfully, raising your eyebrows at him.  
“I thought he’d take things a little slower than that,” he mutters. “Listen, I was supposed to set the two of you up, but when he carted you off into that bedroom, I just got a bad feelin’, okay? I felt like it was less me setting you up for a date and more me pimping you out to my sleazy friend. I freaked out and I changed my mind. So sue me.”  
There’s a few moments of silence between the two of you and Andy steps closer to the road and begins looking for a taxi.  
“Thanks for lookin’ out for me,” you tell him, joining him at the edge of the curb and placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I was okay… honestly.”  
He looks at you as he holds his hand out for an upcoming taxi. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll mind my own business next time.”  
“No, you won’t,” you smile, adjusting the jacket around your shoulders.  
“Nah, you’re right. I won’t,” he grins, opening the taxi door as it pulls up in front of you. You climb into the back of the cab and he closes the door before moving to the front passenger window and giving the driver your address. “Make sure they don’t leave the jacket when they get out; it cost me a small fortune,” he says, handing the driver a few $10 bills and stepping away from the car. “Text me when you get home,” he tells you. You nod and smile as the taxi pulls away and Andy waves you off. You watch him from the rear window as he shoves his hands into his pockets and begins his walk home in the other direction. You watch him until he’s a tiny speck on the horizon and then you turn back around.  
As the driver rounds the corner, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Pulling it out and unlocking it, you find a message from an unknown number.

"I’m glad you came tonight. You made my night a little sweeter. Hope to see you again soon. Coffee, maybe?  
John XO"

A giddy warmth rises within you and you smile down at your phone – something the driver picks up on as he glances at you in the rearview mirror. “Looks like young love to me,” he remarks with a smile, his kind eyes reflecting the city lights from behind his wire frame glasses.  
“Yeah,” you grin, slipping your phone back into your pocket and looking out the window. “Maybe.”


	2. Whirlwind

It’s been a fair few months since that fateful night at John’s party and the two of you have been in a whirlwind romance since. Well, whirlwind is a bit of an understatement – you’re both a total mess, quite frankly, and neither of you does much good for the other. John’s habit of using cocaine every other day has rubbed off on you and your habits have rubbed off on him, too. The two of you are rarely sober and you fight as hard as you love, but despite what your loved ones think of the relationship, you’re happy together. Or at least, most of the time you are.  
See, John doesn’t just have an affinity for cocaine and hard liquor – he also has one for women. And every time you stop by his apartment for an impromptu visit, it’s a lucky – or _unlucky_ – draw as to whether you’ll him in bed alone or with yet another floozy that he’d decided was cheap and desperate enough to take home without worrying about having to spend money on her first. You couldn’t bring yourself to be angry at him, though – after all, you knew of his reputation before you’d even met him. You knew what kind of predator you were sharing your bed with, so what else could you have expected?  
You let yourself into John’s apartment with the key he’d given you a few weeks into the relationship. “John? You home?” you call out into the apartment. The lights are on, but that’s nothing new. John often left the lights on the deter thieves (and out of sheer laziness) and with the income that he earns, it’s not like he doesn’t have the money for the outrageous power bills.  
“In here, baby,” John’s voice calls back. You head towards his office where his voice had come from, tossing your keys onto the kitchen counter and dumping your bag on the bar stool on the way through. It’s just coming up to 10 pm and you’d been out with Andy this evening, though you had to cut the night short due to a bout of nausea. You felt fine now, though.  
You find John at his desk, sifting through paperwork and peering over the top of his reading glasses with tired eyes. “Hey,” you smile, entering the room and making your way over to the desk.  
“Hello, darling,” he replies with a weak smile.  
“What’re you up to?”  
“Nothing interesting,” he tells you. “Just working through an upcoming case.” He gathers the papers into a pile and straightens them up before setting them aside and leaning back in his chair.   
You move around to his side of the desk and take a seat on it directly in front of him as he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “You look exhausted,” you state.  
“I am. I’ve been working for…” John squints at the clock on the wall. “Five hours? It’s been that long already? Good heavens, I get so carried away.”  
“I have something that might help perk you up a little,” you smile, pulling a small bag of white powder from your pocket.   
“You scored? I thought you were with Andrew today?” He leans forward and reaches for the bag, but you snatch it away, raising your leg and placing your foot to his chest, pushing him back into his seat with a smirk. He looks up at you in awe.  
“I _was_ with Andy, but then I started to feel ill, so I left. On the way home, I felt like gettin’ high, so I stopped by that swanky new nightclub on King’s Avenue and bought this beauty.” You dangle the bag in the air and jiggle it.  
“Andrew won’t be too pleased to learn of you scoring so soon after being in his presence. You know how he feels about our hobbies,” John says, raising his hand to your leg – which still holds him in place in his chair – and running his hand delicately up your thigh.  
“Andy doesn’t like _anything_ I do these days,” you say, rolling your eyes as you open the bag. “So if he’s gonna be mad at me either way, then I might as well have some fun.”  
John reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a razor blade as you push his papers out of the way and lay down on the desk. He gives you a puzzled look, to which you respond with “I thought we could spice it up a little” as you pull up your shirt and tip some of the coke onto the bare skin of your stomach, just below your belly button. John’s eyes light up as you do it and he stares at your exposed mid-drift with a smirk, twiddling the razor blade between his fingers as he does so.  
“Just don’t cut me again,” you tell him, licking your finger and dabbing it onto the small lump of powder before putting it in your mouth and sucking it clean. John stands up and places his fingers on a recently healed scar that sits on your hip bone – the result of an intoxicated John not being careful enough while cutting one of his fixes on your abdomen a few weeks ago.  
“I swear I’ll be more gentle this time,” he promises, smiling down at you and tracing his fingers along the length of the scar, causing your stomach to spasm at the tickling feeling. He brings the razor to the lump of gear and begins cutting it, separating it into a fine dust. Once he’s satisfied with the consistency and has formed 3 fine lines of dust on your skin, he bends down and snorts all three of them up with ease. You let out a small giggle at the sensation of his beard against your soft, sensitive skin and he looks up at you through his eyelashes as he trails kisses up your lower stomach and slowly glides his tongue over the entrance of your navel. He runs his kisses all the way up your body until he reaches your mouth, standing between your spread legs and nibbling at your bottom lip as you kiss.   
After a few moments, you pull away from the kiss and prop yourself up on your elbows. “My turn,” you smile. John takes the bag of coke and tips a thin line onto his finger, making sure the line runs the entire length of it, stopping at his fingertip. You sit up and take hold of his wrist, lifting his hand to your face and snorting the line from his finger in one smooth motion. He watches with a smile as you take his finger into your mouth, cleaning any residue from it with your tongue.   
“I love you so much,” he tells you – his verbal filter momentarily shut off due to tiredness or sheer adoration – maybe even both.  
“I know,” you smile, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You can feel the coke coursing through your bloodstream as the rush kicks in and you know John is feeling it too because when you break away from the kiss to pull your shirt off over your head, the tiredness has melted away from his features. Tired eyes have been replaced by bright ones with blown out pupils and a twinkle that you’ve only ever seen in him when he’s high. Dull, grey skin has been exchanged for rosy pink cheeks that glisten with sweat under the warm yellow glow of the desk lamp. He looks euphoric. He looks _alive_ – something you know he doesn’t feel when he’s sober.   
He helps you pull off your shirt and he tosses it onto the floor beside you both before fiddling with the buttons of his own shirt. You help him unbutton them, working your way up from the bottom as he works his way down from the top, meeting in the middle and working as a team to practically tear the silky fabric from his body.  
You trace your hands over his chest. He’s boiling hot – exuding heat that you’d say was some kind of illness if you didn’t know that he’s simply off his damn face on cocaine.   
You find yourself holding each other again; him nuzzling his face into your neck to leave open-mouthed kisses on your skin as your hands wander across his back. As they do so, they find the old scars that John never likes to talk about. You have no idea when he got them or even who gave them to him. You’d asked him once, at the beginning of the relationship. The response he’d given you was a chilling glare that shook you to your core, accompanied by a warning to mind your own business, so you never bothered asking him again. You’ve seen the scars hundreds of times before, but each time you’re faced with them is just as painful as the first. They litter his shoulder blades and criss-cross over his spine – large pink lines against the rest of his sun-kissed skin; lines that perhaps hold even more secrets than the man himself. If that’s even possible.  
He flinches as your hand brushes over them.   
“I’m sorry,” you pant.  
“It’s okay,” he assures you, hastily pressing his lips back onto yours.  
The high is really kicking in now. Your head spins and you find yourself overcome by another bout of nausea. You try to shake it off, leaning further into the kiss, but your stomach churns and you can’t ignore it any longer. Pushing John away, you run to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet in time.  
You flush the toilet as John appears in the doorway. “Are you alright?” he asks. “You said you felt ill before. Would you like me to call the doctor?”  
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” you say, rubbing your stomach gently. “I’ll be there in a minute.”  
He lingers in the frame of the door for a few moments until you shoo him away and he leaves back down the hallway, leaving you to brush your teeth.  
"What is this about?" You think, shoving your toothbrush into your mouth. Although you’re fairly new to using cocaine, it’s never made you sick before; although you’re aware that nausea is a common side effect of it. "Could it be a bad batch?" You wonder, vigorously brushing your back teeth and watching yourself in the mirror. Maybe you ate something bad today. Maybe you’ve caught something. Maybe… You stop dead in your tracks, holding the toothbrush still.  
 _Oh._  
You continue staring at yourself in the mirror with wide eyes, your gaze wandering down to your stomach.  
 _Oh no._


End file.
